


The Light on the Dark Side of Me

by roseandheather



Category: Inspector Lynley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Catharsis, D/s, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandheather/pseuds/roseandheather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the only way to peace is through pain. In the aftermath of a devastating case, Barbara can't find the words for what she needs - but fortunately, she doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light on the Dark Side of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather different fare from my usual, even from these two. I don't think I've ever explored the themes of dominance and submission quite this explicitly before, or even really touched on the world of BDSM. 
> 
> In this fic, this isn't usual for them - but on occasion, one or the other of them needs to give up control and find catharsis. This is your warning that this fic does contain slight reference to self-harm, rough sex, slight bondage, definite powerplay, and no explicit verbal consent (but you can safely assume that this sort of scenario is one that has been discussed between them before). 
> 
> I'm a bit nervous about posting this because it is so different from my usual, but - well, when Barbara says 'jump', I ask 'how high?'

He takes one look at her and knows instantly that something is very, very wrong.

She knows this because she can see the shift on his face, the sympathy in his eyes, the way he starts to reach out for her and stops himself.

And somehow, it only makes her angrier.

The fury that has been knotting in her chest all day, a hot burning ache that makes it hard to swallow and harder to breathe, burns her from the inside out, and she wants to _fight._ Wants to feel the crush of bone on bone, wants the blossoming bruises and deep aches and the feeling of blood vessels breaking. Wants to cry her anger to the skies, wants some sort of _feeling_ to break through the awful tightness around her throat, wants...

"Barbara? What is it, love?"

"Fuck off," she snarls, and jerks away from his hand before it can even touch her. "Why the fuck do you care, anyway?"

His hand falls limply to his side. "I'm only trying to help. I know today was hard, but -"

"Do you?" she shoots back, growls really. " _Do you,_ your Lordship? Know what it's like to watch children cowering in a corner because - oh, shove it!" She lashes out, fists and feet, and it's only because she's so uncoordinated any semblance of combat proficiency has vanished.

He catches her fists with his hands, hooks a leg around both of hers, pins her against the rough brick. A sharp edge tears through skin on the back of her arm, and the small trickle of relief is the first she's felt all week.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he hisses in her ear. "You're being a _brat,_ Barbara, when I'm only trying to -"

At last, at long, long last, his eyes meet hers, and she nearly sobs, because there's the dawning recognition she's been begging for.

"I see," he murmurs at last, and takes her hands, pins them to the brick above her head. "Is this what you need?"

She snarls again, jerks, tries to kick, and her body impacts the harsh stone behind her as he stops her dead. Without another word he hauls her up the steps of the brownstone, something hard and purposeful in his movements, and by the most minuscule bit, she feels the tight band around her throat loosen.

"Strip," he says shortly, shoving her none too gently through the bedroom door. She glares her defiance and he rolls his eyes, doing it deliberately, she knows, to give her something to fight against, something to fan the flames before he quenches them, and she has never loved him more. They don't do this often, from either side, but some days when it's too much to bear...

The next sound she hears is that of her t-shirt being torn straight down the middle. He shoves the fabric off her shoulders to the floor, and the next thing she knows she's pinned to the bed, chest heaving. He pins her arms above her head again with one big hand, the other shoving her jeans down her hips, strips her of her knickers and bra, and gets naked himself by the simple expedient of tying her to the bed and sitting on her hips. She bucks, testing her limits, but he just pins her down, she can't move and cool air trickles into hot, sore lungs.

"You really are being a brat," he says, almost conversationally, and she clings to the thread of tenderness in his eyes even as it just makes her angrier. "Looks like I'm gonna have to fuck it out of you. Again."

She bucks and twists again, knows she can't get away, and does her best to try because this is how they are; he is her unyielding wall, taking whatever she can throw at him with calm, unflinching patience, and she...

He knocks her legs open, reaches between her thighs. She's already soaking, slams her hips against his hand when he curls two fingers inside her without so much as a word of warning. The rough, dull ache is chipping away at the boulder inside her chest, but it's not enough, not...

_And there it is._

He slams inside her, no by-your-leave, no word of warning, and she _screams._ Hot and hard and merciless, he sets a punishing pace, and there's not usually an edge of pain when they make love but this is different, she  _needs_ it now, and she lets out a choked sob as the first tears start to leak from her eyes. 

Bruising is already starting to blossom around her wrists, at her hips, and one of his hands is gripping around her wrists so hard the skin has gone numb, but then his other hand reaches out to cup her cheek in the tenderest of caresses, and if the rough manhandling has made her walls too weak to stand, it's the tenderness that shatters them.

She starts to cry in earnest then, huge gasping sobs, tears soaking her face. He lets her wrists go instantly and she winds her arms around his neck, clinging, holding on for all she is worth and crying helplessly into his shoulder. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking her hair, cuddling her close, and finally, _finally_ she can breathe again.

When orgasm comes it's a hot, dry, burning thing like a desert, scorching her alive from the inside out, pleasure so deep it is pain, and any shields she has left come crashing down around her.

He comes inside her with a gasp and her name on his lips, and then he's rolling onto his side, drawing her against him, and she cries herself out in the safety of his arms.

"Better?" he asks her gently, some time later, and she nods.

"Good." His hand comes up to stroke her hair and she nearly purrs, boneless with relief and relaxation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Gingerly, she shakes her head.

"Okay," he says simply, and hugs her closer.

Head on his chest, his hand in her hair, she sleeps.


End file.
